Finding Honor Among Thieves
by Encaitare Skirata
Summary: Arothir is a thief, not a hero... Tell me, can even a thief find honor, bravery, and loyalty when the very fate of Middle-Earth is at stake? Will his chance meeting with a dying man, Three Hunters and two Hobbits change that?
1. The Beginning

*I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or anything related to it.

*Arothir, however, belongs to me.

* * *

The shadows of ancient trees covered the path on which the thief walked, his silent footsteps making no impression in the foliage and the dirt. The noonday sun filtering through the branches above him. The wind in the trees rustled the green leaves, causing a few to come loose and flutter in winding patterns to the forest floor.

The sun shone on him, warming him with its light and the breeze ruffled his long hair. An air of confidence surrounded him, due to the successful heist he had finished that previous week in Coastlight. As he strode along the dirt path, the back of his neck prickled suddenly with the sense of his being watched.

He glanced around himself making sure not to move his body in such a way that would give away his knowledge of the watcher. Seeing nothing that could have caused his sudden feeling, he continued on. The path he walked continued on a steady incline, and the sound of rushing water could he heard. Eventually tapering off at the final rise which overlooked the Great River, known as Anduin, the path continued down, leading to the rocky shore below. As his clear gray eyes surveyed the wide river his attention caught on two pale elven boats which were pulled onto the rocky shore far up the shoreline to his right and a third boat located on the opposite shore. All empty. Odd.

A sudden clamor of noise caught his attention, the thundering of many feet and the clang of metal striking metal caught Arothir's leaf-shaped ears. He snapped his head towards the noise and both of his hands reaching to grab the hilts of two hidden throwing daggers in the folds of his charcoal-colored cloak. Scanning the area, he spotted a large Orc, holding a strung black bow, step out from behind one of the trees, Arothir had just come through.

'So, this is the creature who was watching me,' Arothir thought to himself as he turned to square-off against the large beast. His eyes quickly calculating the best approach, though he knew this would be an easy kill. Arothir, for all his quirks, was an old-hand at killing. He was trained well and by the best.

The Orc growled, snapping Arothir out of his thoughts. The beast raised his bow and in a harsh voice demanded, "Where is the Halfling?"

'A half-what?' Arothir wondered to himself. Instead of answering verbally, Arothir in an almost languid move, snapped one of his hands forward, his dagger spinning through the air and lodging itself into the beast's throat, killing the horrid creature. The Orc collapsed, its dark blood staining the ground around its putrid body. Arothir strode forward, bending down, he grasped the hilt of this dagger and jerked it out of the beast's clothing. Rising to his feet, he could still hear the sounds of battle coming from the woods beyond.

As he debated getting involved further in this mess, knowing Orc's commonly travel in packs, the clear sound of a horn pierced the air. 'That's a Gondorian horn. What are Gondorians doing here, far beyond the reach of their borders, especially in these dark times?' As he thought this, the horn blasted again. In a split second, knowing the urgency of the plea in the second blast, Arothir bolted forward following the loud blast.

As he ran through the woods, he spotted Orcs beginning to swarm in droves over the low wooded hills of Amon Hen. Their heavy footsteps vibrating the ground, the continuing of sounds of fighting still far off, beyond his sight.

As he continued forward, several Orcs came at him with heavy swords and sharp claws, all of which were easily dispatched with quick, fluid movements and sharp blades. As he crested another hill, he stopped suddenly.

A man on his knees filled Arothir's sight, three dark shafted arrows pierced the dark blonde man's chest and abdomen. The man's eyes never shifted towards the thief, his wild eyes focusing only on the retreating forms of large Orcs, that were racing away towards the West.

Arothir approached him cautiously, another massive Orc could be seen in the distance drawing another arrow. Knowing the inevitable and that time was growing scarce for the man, Arothir's keen elven eyes helped locate the thin string of the enemy's bow. He launched two daggers simultaneously through the air; one slicing the string of the bow and proceeding to bury itself in the Orc's shoulder; the other burying itself in the beast's thigh. This causing the Orc to be temporarily disarmed and slowing it down. Arothir did not miss when he attack the Orc, he had no intention of killing this single beast, he had plans to interrogate it… after the tended to the man.

He swiftly approached the blonde man. As he neared, Arothir noticed a sword and a horn, cloven in two, lying near the stranger.

"So, you were the one who blew the horn," Arothir softly states, bending down to one knee while keeping the slowly approaching Orc in the corner of his eye.

"They took the Little Ones! You must aid them… I have failed," the man cried out in distress, finally turning his head to look at the thief. The blond man's eyes widened slightly at the sight of an Elf before him.

"Master Elf, I beg you, on the last of my honor, I beg you, save them! I have heard that Elves will always be a good people, so I ask this of you. They are innocent, they do not deserve such a fate!" The man begged quickly, his blue eyes filled with pain and losing focus with the coming shadow of death.

Arothir thought quickly, understanding what the man was asking and weighing the cost of such a task would do to him personally. Although, as the Man said, elves will always be a Good People.

"I will save your companions, if I am able," Arothir solemnly swore to the fallen man, grasping the stranger's shoulder and lightly squeezing to assure him.

The sound and sight of the wounded Orc approaching grew steadily louder and closer.

Arothir rose swiftly to his feet again, his hands sliding towards another set of his stilettos. As he took a step in front of the man to protect him, a gloved hand came to grasp weakly at his elbow. The hand, of course, belonged to the man of Gondor, who looked to Arothir with pleading eyes and said, "Leave this foul beast of darkness to me. Save Pippin and Merry!"

Arothir turned his back, once more to the coming Orc, and looked straight in to the man's eyes. Locking gazes with the man, a rush of emotions entered Arothir; the feelings of extreme pain and sorrow, of bravery and a flickering hope, and most of all the pride and strength of determination flowed swift and strong through the man before him. Arothir feeling the man's strong resolution, nodded and the man's face showed a sense of relief at this.

With a final glance at the man filled with honor before him and the coming beast, the Elven Thief turned swiftly towards the West and began to give chase.

* * *

Notes:

If you are wondering about Coastlight, please read my story "Dwarves Don't Do Subtle"

Also note, the members of the fellowship will show up in later chapters.

I also ask not to judge me too harshly on my writing ability, OC making ability, or any LOTR fact I screwed up on, or any inconsistency I may make in regards to my stories.


	2. Catching Up

I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or even the Silmarillion

It took until the evening the following day for Arothir to spot the Orc pack he was pursuing. He had been tracking them the entire night, aside from a brief stop to rest for even Elves need a break. The pack was finally stopping to rest for the night. Arothir, while a fair distance from the horde, dropped to the ground amid the grass and rolling hills and slowly crawled until he reached a small peak of the hill he was on. They, Arothir and the Orcs, had passed into the grassy hills of the land of Rohan of which King Theoden, son of Thengel, ruled. Arothir took notice that out of all the places in the land of Rohan, the Orcs decided to make their camp at the edges of Fangorn Forest.

'Foolish beasts' Arothir had spent years within that forest, living among the trees and Ents there. He had known the Ents for Ages.

As he peeked over the hill, his elven eyes rapidly counting the members of the horrid band, looking for 'half-lings'. He saw nothing that could even be called a 'halfling'. "What in Elbereth's name _is_ a halfling," he murmured quietly to himself as he abandoned his position and moved back down the hill slightly.

Arothir crouched down amid the flowing grass and rocks, his grey eyes seeking the sky above him. A clear night with the light of a quarter moon beginning to shine and the stars flickering in the sky above. As he surveyed the dark sky above, he absentmindedly palmed one of his hidden knives out, flicking and spinning in between his pale hands. His mind began to dissect the situation he found himself in. Arothir knew he was no hero, he gave up long ago dreams and thoughts of heroic deeds and songs sung in his honor in the halls of the Elven regions. He thought of his fellow Elves…

'When was the last time I was among my people?' Ages ago Arothir had abandoned the ways of the Good People, he sought only his own company. The only people he associated with were contacts, fences, others who sought a greedy lifestyle among the shadows.

Arothir shook his head violently, trying to shake off the dark memories that threatened to rise to the surface, memories that held his tears, his pain, his suffering, all at the hands of-

A scream pierced the air.

Arothir turned swiftly on the toes of his boots, still crouched, his blade immediately finding its home in his solid grip, his other hand dropping to the grass to stabilize his crouched stance. He darted his narrowed eyes around searching for the source of the disturbance.

Nothing.

Nothing, but hills, rocks and grass. The Forest of Fangorn was too far from his current position to hide the disturbance amongst its shadows and thick undergrowth.

'Where did tha-?" Arothir stopped his thought process abruptly, his eyes raising to the crest of the hill he had been on previously before him. The thief stood slowly and inched his way up the incline, peeking his head over the crest once again.

Down, at the edges of Fangorn Forest, the Orcs were surrounding something… something too short for the Elf to see clearly. Arothir knew, instinctually, that is where the scream originated from.

"Halflings." The thief breathed out.

Arothir watched them, keeping his focus completely on the circle of Orcs. No other scream permeated the air since the first one. Arothir could faintly hear the jeers and crass language of the Orcs. From the thief's position, he could tell the Orcs were not intent on killing their captives, their intent seemed to be simply to terrify the little beings with false promises and cruel movements.

Having previously counted the amount of the members in the Orc horde, Arothir knew he had little to no chance of successfully killing them all while protecting the captives. Arothir glanced to the sky above. He half-wished it was a new moon, complete darkness worked to his advantage more often than not he only needed the light of the stars above.

After a quarter of an hour, the jeers began to taper off., the Orcs seemed to be getting bored with their game of terrifying the captives. Most of the company going to sit in small groups or alone. Though, two tall Orcs grabbed the two smaller captives and marched them over behind a few trees at the edge of the forest and dumped them on the ground. The two Orcs remained by the captives, on guard.

Arothir smirked in the darkness. 'Foolish, foolish orcs. You should not have gone so far from the others…"

Soundlessly stealing up behind one of the two Orcs guarding the captives, he silently threw one of his knives towards the farthest one, burying it into the back of the beast's neck, killing it instantly. As soon as he had thrown the knife, he quickly grabbed the closer Orc's head with both of his hands and twisted sharply, snapping the monster's neck.

Having finished off the guards, he turned to the captives. What he saw surprised him. Two small beings with curly hair and large hairy feet sat there, both of them bound and gagged. They were smaller than he first thought.

'That explains the 'Little Ones' comment,' he thought dryly to himself, thinking back to what the dying Gondorian man had called them. As he walked towards the little beings, who in turn recoiled at the approach of the hooded stranger. Stopping in his tracks, he lifted his hands slowly in a placating gesture and gently coaxed them, "Peace, I am not here to harm you. I was sent to help you both." As Arothir spoke this, his eyes were drawn to the green and silver leaf broach one of the Hobbits wore, his memories stirring at the sight. Mentally shaking his head, he turned his focus back to the little former captives.

The little beings squirmed and stared at him with an odd mixture of fear and hope. Arothir, knowing the rest of the Orc pack may be closer than he anticipated beyond the few trees and that they would notice the lack of guards, he raised his slim hands to his hood and lowered it. Showing the two Halflings his delicately pointed Elven ears and Elven features that glowed slightly in the darkness that blanketed them. Their eyes widen dramatically at the sight of the unknown male Elf. Arothir stepped towards them, stooping down to one knee, he untied their gags and sliced through their bonds with one of his blades.

"Thank you," one replied, while the other focused on rubbing his wrists to rid the feeling of being bound.

"No time for thank you, you both must hide yourselves now."

"Why?" piped in one of them, his eyes still suspicious of the strange Elf.

"Because, while I have… disposed of the two beasts here, there is still a pack to deal with."

The small Hobbits looked at the Elf in mirroring shock at their rescuer. At Arothir's words, both of the small beings eyes widened in horror at the thought of the upcoming confrontation.

"Yo—you can't hope to.. to.. kill all of them! There are too many!" They cried in a whisper to the Elf in worry for their rescuer.

Arothir, raised his hood one again and raised his dark scarf from around his neck to cover his face and conceal his features, "Worry not for me, young Halflings. You must hide now."

'Bu- but, where are we to hide?"

"Go into the forest, as far as you can. I will find you when I am finished." Arothir looked to Fangorn Forest with longing and in deep thought to its hidden glens and tangling branches and vines. He had spent long years beneath the vast canopy of ancient trees. The trees in Fangorn were Ages old and had guided and protected Arothir for many a year. He knew they would protect the young halflings…. Once the Ents realized they were not their enemies. Arothir externally winced at the thought.

The older of the two halfing, misunderstood the Elf's wince, "Are you hurt?"

The Elf's brows drew together for a moment in confusion.

'What?' he wondered silently, it took the thief to understand the source of little one's concern. No one in years, had ever cared if he was injured or hurt. He was confused on how to react to the other's concern. He thought of how many times he had had to sew his own wounds closed, and scavenge for medicinal herbs. How many times had his hands been coated in his own Elven blood? 'Too many times,' he mentally answered his own contemplation.

Before he could reply, the sounds of a guttural language grew louder, coming closer from beyond the trees.

"Oi, you stinking wargs, where's- "

A large orc entered the little area around the former captives and the one thief. It stopped looking first in brief confusion before the beast's yellow-grey eyes lighted suddenly with malicious glee, reaching for his orc scimitar. "Well, well, well what 'ave we 'ere?" the beasts growled out.

Arothir had spun to face to orc who had entered, undetected. He internally cursed himself, for being distracted by the comments made by the beings who stood at his side, asking after his health.

He composed himself quickly and turned to calmly face the orc, stepping in-front of the smaller beings, blocking them from the large Orc.

"Go," the thief's smooth, low voice spoke out.

"Go? What are ya gettin' at, you sneaking arse." A yellow grin spread across the ugly beast's maw.

Arothir, narrowing his eyes, cocked his head arrogantly at the beast, his voice betraying his smirk, "I was not speaking to you, beast."

It was at that moment, the little beings known as Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, fully realized who the Elf was speaking to.

With twin looks of concern for their savior, they hesitated a moment too long.

"Go!" The thief barked out.

The seemingly older of the two covered the younger's mouth with his palm and a shake of his curly-haired head at the other Hobbit. He knew Pippin would ask after the intentions of the thief, he knew his cousin's ever curious mind.

Pippin looked at Merry, concern and fear shown blatantly on the young Hobbit's face.

Merry grabbed his friend's hand and turned to the forest, tugging Pippin along with him. With a final glance at the Elven thief, Meriadoc spoke in a weary tone, the words of, "Thank you… and good luck to you."

With those words, fresh off Merry's lips, the two Hobbits slipped into the shadows of Fangorn Forest, leaving the thief and the orc behind.

*I know the Orcs were ordered not to harm the captives on order by Saruman. But for my story's sake, terrifying them and 'roughing them up' seemed appropriate.

* I guess this counts as a cliffhanger, but I want the battle sequence to be all together and I only have half of it currently written.


	3. Battling the Horde

I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or the Silmarillion.

After hearing the two Halflings enter into the forest behind him, the Elf finally turned his entire attention unto the Orc in front of him. The cruel beast was gray-skinned and wearing a patchwork of dark leather and black armor. A single outline of a large white hand stood out sharply against the breastplate of the orc's crude armor.

Arothir noted the white hand, along with the weapons visible to him from where he stood at the edges of the dark massive forest. He was unaware of the meaning of the supposed symbol. He knew, though, it must have some significance, for an orc to have it on such a prominent place on its being.

The Orc took a step forward, it's gnarled fist reaching for it's wicked scimitar, an ugly grin crossed it's face in anticipation of the death of the hooded stranger in front of it.

Arothir snapped his own wrist up holding his knife in a reverse-grip and crouching slightly. He needed to kill the Orc quickly and quietly to give the Halflings a chance to go farther in the darkened forest behind him and to not alert the rest of the horde beyond the thin line of trees to the presence of the thief and the lack of captives.

'No…' Arothir suddenly realized and consider the thought of…

'…with being a thief, silence is imperative… but, this isn't a heist….'

Arothir, though his face hidden behind his mask, smirked. His silver-grey eyes alighting with a deadly mischievous light. With the former captives gone, Arothir did not have to be quiet about this next kill and he was going to revel in that fact.

Arothir threw the body of the orc he had slew towards the horde. The sound of the corpse thumping to the grass caught the attention of the minions of darkness. All attention was on the masked stranger who entered from beyond the shadows of the copse of trees. The Orc's lurched to their feet, gathering into a loose crowd, shouts and growls at the thoughts of spilling the stranger's blood and at the anger of their dead companion at their feet.

The tallest and largest of the Orc horde came forward, a scimitar grasped in its hand. "Who 're you?" it called out in a croaking voice, the pack behind him echoing its question in a myriad of vile and disgusting voices. The ringing of scimitars being released from crude scabbards could be heard as well. Few of the orcs shifted in anticipation of the coming fight with the masked and hooded stranger.

Arothir ignored the question directed at him, instead he called out in a commanding voice, "Tell me, Beast; since when do Orc's kidnap? I thought you only capable of mindless murder and destruction," Arothir taunted, as he surveyed the pack before him. The Orcs snarled and growled in response. One of the pack stepped forward, its scarred and bulbous face disgusting Arothir, in a screechy voice it replied, "Orcs? We're not Orcs, you disgusting tree-dweller! We are Uruk-hai!"

Arothir narrowed his gray eyes at the unknown term and responded in a mocking voice, "What? I have never heard of Uruk-hai. Are you sure you are not Orcs? Or perhaps, you are a common goblin?" Purposefully angering the beasts in front of him.

"We are fighting Uruk-hai! You dimwitted dog!"

Arothir smirked behind his mask, his eyes flashing dangerously in the dark, and replied in a chilling voice, "If I'm a dog, then you are dogfood."* And with that, he attacked.

The pack of thirty Uruk-hai came at Arothir and met him half-way across the clearing between them. Their dark blades swinging wide and aiming for the Elf. Arothir dodged them all, slipping quickly into the ranks of the horde before the Uruk-hai could realize his intentions. Yes, being in the middle of a pack is incredibly dangerous to the thief's over-all well-being, but it also gave him the advantage. With the Uruk-hai's attempting to attack the Elf among them, they began to miss-judged the swing of their own cruel blades and caused casualties among their own horde, wounding and even killing each other in their pursuit of the stranger. Orcs were known for the fact; they didn't think beyond the single thought of 'kill, kill, kill.' As long as they claimed their victim, they thought not of what laid in their path either ally or foe… but these were not Orcs.

If only the thief realized his folly sooner…

Arothir's blood sang with every deadly blade of his that pierced his enemies, his cold calculation went into every hit artery and every throat cut. He twisted, weaved, ducked, and jumped to avoid the dangers surrounding him.

While in this situation, Arothir had the insane feeling of glee and laughter bubbling up inside of him. His smirk grew into a full-on smile as he fought amid the dark creatures. As he twisted and cut through the throng, a few of the Uruk-hai caught his dark cloak with the edges of their blades, causing small rips and tears, though none cut through Arothir's tunic and undershirts underneath the weather-beaten cloak. The spattering of blood coating his clothes and mask began to bring back feelings of something close to nostalgia, he had not felt this alive for Ages. The only difference was the color of the blood… Ages ago, it was not black blood that coated his figure, nor the clothing of his allies, nor the clothing of his family's…

The Uruk-hai began to spread out, finally realizing their disadvantage after five of their pack fell to their own blades and another eight to the hooded stranger.

Arothir swiftly rolled into a forward somersault, avoiding the horizontal swing of a crude scimitar aimed for his neck. His hood came down as he regained his feet, the forward momentum tugged the deep hood off his head. His long-plaited hair swinging freely from its confinement of the hood, his delicately-pointed ears showing his Elven heritage.

Creatures of Darkness were not often confronted by the Elven race in this Age, the Elven folk have hidden themselves behind their enchanted borders and rarely left their lands. This was an opportunity the horde of Uruk-hai would not pass up, a chance to spill the blood of an Eldar.

Suddenly, a clawed grey-skinned hand grabbed his raven-dark plaited hair. A Uruk-hai had roughly grabbed the back of the thief's long, dark plaited hair, pulling the Elf's head back sharply. Arothir sucked in a sharp breath at the stinging pain of it, his brows coming together at the pain. Arothir grabbed at the hand holding his hair and brought his other knife-holding hand down on the clawed grasp, ripping through the orc's wrist, causing the Uruk to release him. Arothir spun to face his immediate foe and with his empty hand, he grabbed out his single long stiletto dagger and plunged it into the beast's chest, killing it. Returning the blade to its sheath beneath his cloak, at the small of his back, not having the time to wipe it off. Arothir continued with his throwing knives, preferring the smaller, swifter blades when in a fight.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the horde once more.

From out of nowhere, a spear pierced the Uruk to the thief's left. His eyes taking in the fashion of it. "Rohan," he breathed out in acknowledgment of the spear. Arothir swiftly dispatched the Uruk that approached him, just as a cavalry of men on horseback began hacking their way through the horde.

Arothir took his chance. He bolted for the tree-line, leaving the men of Rohan to defeat the last of the horde and unintentionally aiding in his escape from the battle.

Before his could reach the tree-line, a large Uruk blocked his escape route.

The Uruk charged him, with a growling roar. Arothir twisted, dodging the blade, and aimed for the beast's unprotected neck- Arothir's boots slipped on the bloody grass causing him to stumble to his knees. The Uruk-hai he was fighting, saw its chance and slashed down at the temporarily vulnerable Elf, with its black scimitar. Unable to recover fully in time, Arothir jerked his body to the right, protecting his dominant side and arm. The beast's blade sliced through his cloak, undershirt and into his left shoulder. Arothir grunted in pain, and slammed his fist into the beast's unprotected midsection. The Uruk reared back at the impact. Ignoring his wounded shoulder, Arothir jumped to his feet and grabbed the beast's shoulders, yanking it forward and down, Arothir brought one of his knees up and slammed it into the Uruk's face. The Uruk collapsed.

Arothir, breathing hard, casting his eyes around at the destroyed horde around him, searching for the knife he had dropped when he had stumbled. Spotting it, he snatched it up and slit the throat of the Uruk that had wounded him, killing it. Seeing the Calvary finishing up with their assault, and briefly thanking the Valar for not giving the race of Men the eyesight of an Elf, he ran for the forest and finally was able to disappear into the shadows of Fangorn Forest.

After traveling swiftly for nearly a mile and a half, Arothir could sense the displeasure of the forest at the invasion of a single unknown being, once he had stepped into their realm. Arothir paused and laid one of his slim pale hands on the trunk of the nearest tree, he silently asked for their silence towards his presence. The trees knew him, and listened, recognizing him once he acknowledged them. The trees of Fangorn had a nasty habit of creaking, groaning, and even, moving to scare away any that dared to venture beneath their ancient boughs. As the thief continued forward, his legs and arms began to tremble from the adrenaline release from his battle with the Uruk-hai pack.

He stumbled over a fallen branch.

Catching himself as best he could on the truck of an oak tree, his back hit the massive trunk and he slide down slowly to the leaf and moss-covered ground, closing his eyes to lessen the lightheadedness he was experiencing from the movement.

Once he was seated, he opened his grey eyes and glared at the dead branch he had tripped over, silently cursing it for having fallen in the first place, and cursing the irony of sitting at the base of the tree it had most likely fallen from.

'What did I do to earn the ire of an oak tree? Maybe the branch just hates me… maybe… maybe I offended it! The branch is out to harm me!' His mind panicked and struggled to dissect the nefarious plot of the single dead oak tree branch that he had accidentally tripped over. His thoughts were sluggish and his mind was beginning to swim from the beginning effects of blood loss from the wound to his shoulder.

"Oh Valar," he bit out, realizing his folly, reaching his trembling right arm to his injured shoulder. Squeezing his wounded shoulder slightly to focus his mind with the pain, he mentally smacked himself from his delirious stupidity. Arothir recognized the effects of poison. It had been several years since the thief fought so many opponents at once. He was out of practice. He should have known there are more dangers than a sharp-edge blade in battle. He, himself, often carried Belladonna and Hemlock on his person.

'Disgraceful,' he wryly thought as darkness began to creep into the corners of his vision. As he struggled to remain conscious, his shaking hands reached beneath his cloak and grab out his small medical pack, he had learnt ages ago to keep it with him at all times. Shaking fingers opened it and he dug out a cloth bandage, and a small envelope of Athelas, known most commonly as Kingsfoil. Opening the envelope, he grabbed a few green and white herbs and brought them to his lips. Placing them on his tongue, he began to chew them into a gritty paste as he carefully pulled the ripped edges of his clock and shirts from the edges of the wound, not having the energy to take either of them off completely. Clearing the clothing away from the wound he spit the Athelas onto this fingertips and placed the herb into his wounded shoulder. Turning his attention to the cloth bandage he had grabbed out earlier, he weakly shook it out and crudely wrapped his shoulder.

His energy was drained, and the darkness was becoming more and more prominent in his vision. The glamour he had used to dim the glow of his fea had released on its own. His exhaustion unable to hold the spell in place. It was how he could pass as one of the Race of Men and to keep from being caught in a dark room during a heist. Elven fea, really was inconvenient to a thief.

Lightly shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he laid a shaking palm on the large root that that nestled around him, he weakly asked the oak tree, "…Find… Treebeard."

With that and knowing the trees around him were friends and allies, he allowed the darkness to swallow him whole, knowing the forest would watch out for him and would heed his request.

-Helsing quote – It was whenever Alucard fought against Valentine.

-I don't know if elves are ambidextrous or not. But, whatever, Arothir is right-handed.


	4. Companions?

The wind was twisting and whirling amid the sounds of trees creaking and swaying and leaves rustling together as the wind twisted itself playfully among them. These were the sounds Arothir awoke to; he could also hear the faint sound of a creek, slowly rushing on its course. Keeping his body still, he focused on what he was feeling and hearing, beyond the sound of the melodious voices of nature that was soothing him. Arothir felt soft earth beneath his body, his cloak was laid atop him, and his mask, was surprisingly still in place, as well as his various weapons, beyond that, the thief could hear three distinct voices. He heard what sounded like two young voices whispering rapidly back-and-forth and a resounding " _Hrmmmm_. Yes. _Hooouuummmmm_."

'Wait.' He thought, opening his grey eyes.

He recognized the deep resounding tone of Ent-ish. The Ent-ish being spoken, however, was mixed with the Common tongue, which was highly uncommon, of course. The thief struggled to put together the pieces of what had happened before he was poisoned and had fallen unconscious as a result. He vaguely remembered fighting an Orc pack, and rescuing two little… Halflings…a branch bent on revenge…

Arothir shot up.

He found himself sitting on a bed of grass and moss, to his left he could see the two little Halflings looking at him with wide eyes, shocked at the thief's abrupt move. They had thought him still unconscious. Not focusing on the Halflings, Arothir grasped at his wounded shoulder, it was dully throbbing, Arothir moved to grabbed at the edges of his shirt opening to get at the bandage to see the damage done to his shoulder.

" _Hmmm_ … let that be… _orrrmmmm_ … the healing draught has not…. Finished working…."

What the thief had not noticed immediately was something, or rather someone, standing beside the former captives, someone who blended into the dense forest around them.

"Fangorn!" the thief sighed out, relieved to see his friend and confidant. Rising to his feet and brushing his hands over his clothes to get rid of the bits of moss and grass that stuck to his person. His shoulder was only a dull throbbing, no sharp pains to be felt. He could move it, thanks to the healing draught of the Ents. He lowered his mask as soon as he saw his friend.

Fangorn was a large Ent reaching past 15-feet tall, all dark brown bark, brown and gold eyes and a long, bushy leaf, moss and twig made beard.

" _Hrmmmm_. Little Elfling, I see you have awoken… one would think you would sleep for century… once again," Fangorn commented to one of the few Elves he kept (willingly) in his own company.

"Once, my old friend! Once!"

"Once what?" a young voice piped in, not understanding the underlying humor between the Elf and the Ent.

Distracted from his conversation, Arothir turned his full attention to the two Halflings.

Now, with the light of Anor shining through the forest, he could properly look at the two that he had saved. The seemingly older of the two looked at him with serious and weary eyes. Blue eyes that had lost the thought that the land of Middle-earth was still innocent and free.

The one who had spoken still had bright inquisitive blue eyes and a curious look on his face. His eyes darting between the thief and the Ent.

Arothir had just opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted-

"Thank you, good sir!" the elder of the two spoke out, the younger echoing his words readily. They both bowed deeply in their savior's direction, attempting to be polite.

"Mae govannen, young Halflings," the thief spoke out to the two Halflings, with an Elvish bow in return for their efforts.

"I'm Pippin! That's Merry!" Pippin blurted out, pointing to his cousin, a smile lighting up the younger's face. "Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, to be precise, sir. We prefer being called Merry and Pippin though." The older of the two, now known as Merry, corrected.

"I am honored to meet you. I am called Arothir. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting."

Both the Halfling eyes brightened as they recognized the Elvish greeting they had learnt in Rivendell, also known as Imladris. While there, Merry and Pippin had learnt many and various things while in the Hidden Valley, making friends with the Elven folk there and causing mischief when it fancied them. Their chief mischievous deed involved honey, a rabbit, and an unsuspecting Bilbo.

" _Hrrrm. Orrrrhhmm_ … It is good to see you healed…few of my Ents thought you wouldn't make it…The young Hobbits, however… kept their hope… _hmmmm_."

"And a very good thing we did!" Pippin cut in, once more.

'Hobbits?' Arothir wondered, quickly linking that to what they, Merry and Pippin, call themselves instead of Halflings.

"Well, dear Hobbits. Tell me how did you come to be in the company of this cantankerous old tree?" Arothir asked with a teasing wink at his friend, he got a huff in response.

Merry and Pippin laughed at the barb thrown before launching into their story of escaping into the Forest, running from the Uruk that chased after them and had threaten to eat them both!

(Line Break)

The sun was beginning to set in the west, shadows were lengthening, a cooler breeze beginning to form. During the story they had moved to the center of their glen and gathered around a newly formed firepit, sitting on the grass. The Hobbit's had wrapped themselves in their Elvish cloaks that had been gifted while in Lothlorian and had begun to pile old sticks and bits of long broken-off logs to build a fire. With Treebeard's permission, of course. They had long finished their story of their adventure of finding Treebeard and finding, with the help of an Oak tree, and helping the unconscious Elf that had saved them. During this time, Treebread had taken his leave to keep an eye on the nearest of the Forest's borders to make sure non had entered his domain without permission. The Hobbits kept sneaking glances at the thief, unaware of the fact that he noticed it every time they looked his way. Pippin blatantly stared at Arothir for a moment before flashing Merry a quick grin, which Merry hesitantly returned.

"Do it!" mouthed Pippin to Merry. Arothir quirked an eyebrow at that.

With an obvious deep breath, Merry turned his attention to Arothir. Arothir looked up at the curly-haired Hobbit from his seat on the grass, curious.

"Mr. Arothir, sir. Why did you save us? Pippin and myself…I mean…"

Arothir thought for a moment before answering, "A man of Gondor asked it of me."

"Boromir!" "How is he?!" "He's alive?!" "Where is he?!" question after question were shouted at the thief in response. The eyes of the Hobbits were wide with shock and something near excitement.

Arothir's brows shot up in surprise at the explosive response. "I know not of his fate. Last that I saw of him he was facing an 'Uruk-hai'."

"Was Aragorn there? Or Legolas? Or Gimli?" Pippin asked.

Arothir cocked his head slightly, his slim brows furrowing, unsure of who they spoke of. "My apologies, I know not of who you speak. I had only spoken with the Gondorian. He asked me to save you, 'Save the Halflings' he said."

"Was he hurt?" Merry intoned, his brows turning down, bright concern seen in his eyes.

Arothir look him in the eye and replied gently, "yes, he was."

Suddenly Merry lashed out yelling, "How could you leave him if he was wounded?! You saved us, didn't you? Couldn't you have saved him too?!"

With that he abruptly turned and ran into the forest around them, his cousin running after him at his heels, Pippin whose eyes held sadness for both his cousin and their new Elven friend. In moments, they vanished into the forest.

Arothir took Merry's anger in and stamped it down in his mind. He understood the emotions that came when one you cared about was injured or… dead. Arothir thought of his family that had been lost to him Ages ago, never to see any of those he loved again… forever to wander alone… that was his curse to bear…

Arothir gazed at the trees the Hobbits had vanished into.

Treebeard, who had returned to hear the yelling that had happened in his glen, spoke to the Elfling. " _Hrrrmmmmrm_ … My Trees will watch out for them…Sleep for now, Elfling, you must recover your strength…"

With a final look at both his friend and the forest, Arothir returned to his 'bed' and laid on his side facing away from the fire, and slipped into the world of Elven dreams.

(Line-Break)

Ithil had reached its zenith when the Hobbits returned, settling into their own beds, their steps rousing Arothir from his dreams. He did not turn to face them.

As the Hobbits slept, Arothir arose and slipped out of the glade and climbed the nearby hill to meet with the Tree Herder alone. As he crested the top of the hill, his eyes were drawn upward. The stars shone bright in the night sky, millions of them coating the inky darkness while Ithil shone her gentle light on the world below.

Pulling his eyes away from the spectacular images above, Arothir turned his eyes to his old friend that stood by, the Ent's attention was focused on the forested hills of his land.

"May the stars shine upon our meeting, Lord Fangorn." Arothir intoned, with an elvish bow as he stepped over to join his friend in the center of the hill.

" _Hrmmm_. It has been far too long, Dear Elfling."

Arothir winced at the 'elfing'. No matter how many Ages they had known each other, Fangorn still insisted on that particular title for the Elf.

Ignoring the endearment for once, Arothir turned his gray eyes to the forested land as well.

" _Rrrrorrrmmm_. _Hoooormmm_. The Trees are uneasy…."

"What has happened, my old friend?"

"Darkness is striving into my forest… Saruman stays within the borders of Isengard…"

Arothir's brows furrowed in confusion, 'Saruman?' Aloud he questioned, "Did he not agree to guard the forest from the Darkness, as well?"

"I have not spoken… to him…"

Arothir turned sharply to Treebeard in shock, his eyes widening. Arothir thought of the White Istari. Arothir had thought that Fangorn and Saruman were guardians of the forest, when it came to the Great Forest, due to the fact, the Forest of Fangorn surrounded the Valley of Isengard. Personally, Arothir had met Saruman on a single occasion. He remembered the white-clad wizard, well. Arothir had avoided the Istari after that meeting, feeling uneasy in the Istari's presence. Saruman's aura was ice cold, almost cruel. Arothir had no intention of being near a soul, such as Saruman's, if he could avoid it.

Arothir had the ability to sense a person's soul, or an Elf's fea. To get a sense of their intentions and their emotions. The ability was a blessing in the thief's mind, not a curse. It helped the thief to be wary of strangers and to know the intentions of his clients without asking questions.

When it came to someone's soul or fea, Saruman was nowhere near the wicked, black souls Arothir had felt firsthand Ages ago, during the various wars of the past… Alas, it was still better to avoid a soul like that.

" _Hrmmm_ … return to your bed…. Elfling…. Let your worries be laid aside…I will keep watch…"

Suddenly, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders, Arothir bowed once more to the Lord of the Forest and returned down the hill to his bed and slipped into his dreams once more.


	5. Of Misunderstandings and Vengeance

I do not own anything by Tolkien.

* * *

Arothir awoke, once again to the melodious voices of nature… and to the voices of Merry and Pippin bickering as if they were Elflings. From what his Elven ears could hear, they were bickering over… tomatoes…or rather, lack of tomatoes… and something called 'Second Breakfast'?

Annoyance filling inside him at the arguing, especially being so early in the morning. Arothir rolled onto his back, sighing. Rising from his moss-covered bed and grabbing his cloak, he haphazardly clasped it around his neck. He would not be getting anymore sleep, he reminisced, 'Long-lived… and a lover of sleep.' Arothir enjoyed the embrace of sleep, enjoying napping in the sun and beneath the moon. His new companions apparently did not share the sentiment; this thought causing the Elf to groan silently. The Hobbits did not understand how the Elven race sleeps, or rather, they dream. With being immortal, elves did not always follow the rising and fall of the sun. He knew of Elves that lived a nocturnal lifestyle, while others found peace in the sunlight rooms. Time truly only affected mortals, the thief had found…

'I will not be dreaming once more this morning,' lamenting the thief to himself. Arothir rose from his mossy bed and ignoring the ensuing argument in favor of slipping off silently to the creek that ran beyond their circle of trees. On silent feet, he stepped into the tree-line. Breathing deeply, the scent of nature filling his lungs and clearing his mind. Elves treasured nature; they are not meant to be trapped in places of stone. 'Unlike Dwarves and Goblins,' Arothir snorting to himself, stepping over the roots of the massive and dense Oak trees surrounding him and even hopping over a small trench in the path, laughing quietly to himself, finding joy in the small movement of childishness. He began noticing forest-dwelling creatures coming closer to Fangorn's clearing, a lone doe and her speckled faun, a pair of red foxes, and even several squirrels crossed his path to the creek. He treasured animals, finding their company peaceful and oft more enjoyable then the company of Men, Dwarves or fellow Elves. Animals, he found, had a tendency to be loyal and true to those they consider friendly. Ents were not much different than those of their forest-dwelling inhabitants. Ents watched out for those who treasured nature, especially they own forests and dwelling places… Ents also hold grudges longer and stronger than even that of a dwarf; for their memories are as deep as their roots.

The sound of soft water rushing gently reaching his finely pointed ears. Spotting the creek, between a Willow and an Oak tree. He could hear the faint sound of the creek from Fangorn's Glen. It's clear water so pure, he could see every single pebble that lines its bottom. Unclasping the cloak from around him, he could still smell the Uruk-hai blood on it. Holding the cloak up before him, he critically noted the blood spattered that littered it liberally, and the rips and tears from the battle two nights ago.

'Disgusting' he muttered quietly to himself, wrinkling his nose at the sight.

Crouching with a grimace by the small creek and dunking his cloak into the rushing water, submerging the whole thing. He began scrubbing it with vigor watching the blood temporarily taint the water before swirling downstream. 'This is disgusting,' he thought repeating his comment from earlier.

His shoulder, by the grace of the Entish Healing Draught and his own Elven heritage, was healing fairly quickly. Without the weight of his blades, he felt lighter. He had left all, but one of his blades back in the camp. Temporarily relieving himself from the weight of all of them, along with his travel pack. Though his shoulder ached, he, like most elves, hated being dirty and was fastidious about his appearance. He scrubbed and scrubbed, willing away the blood of the enemies he had defeated. He replayed the battle in his mind, critiquing his errors and mentally noting what was different between the Uruk-hai, Orcs and Goblins. 'They are similar, yet, stronger and more dangerous. Unlike Goblins and Orcs, they are capable of walking beneath the sun. How? Where did they come from?' Arothir questioning himself, 'and what of the White Hand?'

He did not recognize the symbol, no Man, Dwarf, Elf, Goblin, or Skinchanger to his knowledge possessed that particular symbol. Gondor had their Tree and their stars; Rohan it's horses; Dwarves their hammers and jewels; Elves their sheer elegance; the White Hand was not the symbol of the Elven Race, it was simply too coarse and too unrefined. The White Hand could not be linked to a particular race. 'Is that the sign of the Uruk-hai themselves, or their master?''

The dark-haired Elf lost himself in his task and the questions plaguing him; his mind drifting off and mixing among the thoughts of the trees and creatures around him.

A half-hour later, he heard one of the Hobbits approach him, steps hesitant in their approach. He did not know which one.

"…I'm sorry." These words were softly spoken. Merry.

"Hmmm?" Not taking his eyes of his task, Arothir heard sorrow and remorse in Merry's voice. He could not rightly fault the young Hobbit for his anger. He knew how Merry felt. Arothir pulled his cloak from the now clear water, wringing it out as best he could. The water splashing back to its home in the creek.

Merry stood by staring at the Elf who had moved and was laying his cloak over a tree branch nearby their little creek, still facing away from the Hobbit. "I said 'I'm sorry!'" Merry cried out with a hint of desperation.

Arothir pausing for a moment, before turning to face the Hobbit, the silver-grey eyes of the Elf began scanning the Hobbit from the top of the curly haired head to the hair-covered feet of the Hobbit Race. In that exact moment, Arothir fully recognized unto himself, how very young the Hobbit actually was. A Hobbit, from what he had heard from Fangorn, that knew little of the world outside their gentle Shire. 'Oh Valar, I'm Ages older than him…'

"Merry." This name he spoke aloud.

Merry looked at the thief with startled eyes. He had been expecting to be ignored for his angry apology.

"Merry," repeating himself, Arothir continued, "I know what it is like to lose the ones I came to cherish."

"Wh-"

Arothir held up one of his slim pale hands in a 'wait a moment' gesture. "Merry, I am not expressing that I can fully understand what you are feeling. Simply that I myself have experienced the loss of someone. I cannot fully understand what you have gone through, both with the man of Gondor, or what you suffered at the hands of the Uruk-hai. However, what I do know is this; that with hardship, comes grief. If you need to grieve than grieve. Neither myself, nor Fangorn, nor will your companion judge you."

During the thief's short speech, tears began welling in the blue eyes of the Hobbit, until they began spilling unto his reddening cheeks.

Merry began to cry.

He sobbed for Boromir, for Pippin and himself, for the loss of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, for Frodo and Sam… for the death of Gandalf…

"Let _Vasá_ above be witness to your grief, let him warm you and comfort you with his fiery light."

Arothir slipped off farther into the forest with those simple words leaving his tongue, leaving the Hobbit to grieve in the privacy the forest allowed.

(Line Break)

Arothir's heart ached at the sound of Merry's sobbing and heartbreak, as the thief retreated deeper into the forest. He kept walking until he couldn't hear the sounds that were reminding the thief of his own grief and sorrow.

Arothir trekked deeper and farther into the forest, following the creek until it flowed into a small lake. Its clear water shaded by the trees that surrounded it. Arothir, realizing he had left his cloak behind to dry, stripped off his remaining tunic and undershirt. Uruk-hai blood and his own Elven blood coated them both, even days later as the Hobbits were unable to wash it all off of him while he was unconscious. Taking off his boots, and wading waist-deep into the water, soaking his breeches in the process, he submerged his tunic and undershirt. Cleaning them as well.

When he had finished, he came sloshing out of the lake to lay his clothing beside his boots on the lush green grass that surrounded the area. He began slowly and carefully unwrapping the bandage on his shoulder. His would had stopped bleeding a night ago. Finally unwrapping it, he was the wound. Arothir grimaced at the sight. It was, Valar willing, scabbing over and was in the process of flaking away, revealing new skin below. 'Thank the Valar!' Arothir made mental note to also thank Treebeard for the healing draught.

Knowing there was no one around and knowing that Merry and Pippin would stay near Fangorn's glen, Arothir unbuckled the single holster that held his stiletto dagger to his lower back, and unlaced and stepped out of his breeches. Laying his breeches out beside the other clothing and dropping his holster beside them, he turned towards the water once more.

With a breath of relaxation, he waded back into the clear lake. It had been days since his last bath and he was not going to miss this opportunity. He untied his long dark plaited hair, and shook his head with a sigh, massaging his scalp with his hands and relaxing from having his hair bound for too long. His wounded shoulder pulled and stretched, an ache still prevailed. Arothir glanced with grey-eyes to the shore where the bandages laid discarded on the shore, he had no intention of re-wrapping his shoulder. The air would help to heal it faster.

With another deep breath, he dove under the sparkling surface of the lake.

Arothir swam for several hours, enjoying the feel of the water on his skin and the sun-lit water. The sun, Vasá, shone upon the water droplets that coated the pale skin of the Elf, making his skin shimmer as he moved in the water. His slim body slipping easily through the clear lake-water.

Arothir dove to the bottom of the lake, spying strange colored rocks and snail shells. He began gathering a few of the rocks and shells, before rising to the surface and breaking it. Treading water, he admired his find. Out of the three stones and two shells he had found; one stone shone navy-blue with black speckles, another had orange and beige stripes coating its surface, while the last one shone plum-purple. The shells were the color of the earth, greens and browns speckled the surfaces of the twisted shells. With a smile, he swam to the shore. Walking to his clothes and tucking his small finds into one of the pockets of his tunic. He enjoyed finding trinkets to keep.

Just as he placed them into his tunic pocket, a shot of pain spasmed his body, falling to his knees, his slim hands grasping at his chest. The green grass prickling at his skin, 'what in the Valar?!' Staggering to his feet, he swiftly re-clothed himself. The pain he was feeling wasn't from his wound, it came from the trees around him. The entire morning he had been listening to the thoughts and feelings of the forest around him, yet something terrible had happened and the trees are now in _pain_.

Strapping his blade to his lower-back as he began jogging towards the tree-line. The trees around him beginning to shudder and quake. They opened a path for the Elf, moving their branches and their roots buried further into the ground. They were in pain as well, and they knew the Elf was searching for the source of their distress.

Arothir broke into a silent run, leaping over bushes, and occasionally jumping to grab a rough tree branch to swing himself over larger obstructions that blocked his path. He ran for nearly three-quarters of an hour; miles from the lake and Fangorn's Glen.

Arothir, noticing something had changed, slid to a stop on the leaf-covered ground. Narrowing his grey eyes, he sniffed the air around him. The wind contained traces of smoke, ash, and dirt. "Fire?" Arothir muttered. He was approaching the disturbance, the trees around either quivered in fear or were completely and unnaturally silent and still. It was actually beginning to creep the thief out.

Arothir began jogging forward, his senses on high-alert, for every new scent, and sound around him. After another mile, the trees were completely silent. He had not seen any forest creatures in the last several miles, not a squirrel nor a single bird. Everything was silent, even the wind had died down, though the scent of fire from before still lingered in the still air. Seeing a clearing up ahead, Arothir noted he was nearing the Valley of Isengard.

"Why are you so silent, my friends? Is not Saruman a companion to you all? Why are you all afraid when so close to his valley?" Arothir quietly asking in Sindarin; questioning the still forest around him, as he looked around himself.

Arothir knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the disturbance laid in the clearing before him. Steeling himself, he continued forward, breaking the tree-line and stepping into… nothing.

Shock and horror permeating through the thief.

The forest was dead… and gone.

Arothir had spent years of his life beneath the boughs of the forest of Fangorn… never had he seen this… not since the Wars of the previous Ages… even then people knew never to harm trees, especially those under the protection of the Ents.

As far as his grey-eyes could see, the ground was torn up and parts of it scorched by fire. Broken branches and dark black soil littered the ground around him. Every tree that surround the Valley of Isengard was gone. Arothir turning his eyes to the valley below him. He noted the river of Isen no longer flowed, for it was dammed up on the far side of the valley. Large stones and wooden logs barricaded the Isen from the valley it was meant to nourish. Arothir noticed dark smoke rising from the various massive pits and caverns that harshly scoured the now rock-covered and dusty valley floor around the Tower of Orthanc. The Tower stood tall and dark as obsidian, even in the late afternoon sun's light.

Arothir shuddering at the sight of the White Wizard's Tower, dread filling his stomach and turning it to ice. Yet, as dread began filling him, so did an icy fire that sparked beneath his skin, a fire that contained the rage at the sight of such utter destruction. Hundreds of trees had been chopped down, and if Arothir deduced correctly, were used as fuel to create the dark smoke that rose into the blue sky above.

Rage filling him.

"Saruman." This was hissed from between the fine lips of the Elven Thief, his silver-grey eyes flashing with a deadly light.

(LINE BREAK)

After seeing the destruction of the forest of Isengard, Arothir bolted back towards Fangorn's Glen. Fangorn needed to know of this tragedy!

He ran for miles, desperation making his flight to the glen faster.

Arothir was nearing the clearing when he saw a flash of a white cloaked figure and a staff. 'The White Wizard." Whispering silently to himself. Rage rekindling within the Elf's being. He swiftly climbed into the tree-line, traversing the boughs and branches of the trees as swiftly as an Elf born in the Woodland Realm. Once he had gotten close-enough, dropping from a tree below the hill on the farside of the hill from the Glen. He silently jogged up the hill, before crawling across the top to see below to the glen. Laying at the top of his hill, with his gray-eyes peering over the crest. Arothir could not see the face of the wizard, for the wizard stood with his back to the hill. The Hobbits were nearly hanging onto the white cloak of the wizard, excitement could be plainly seen. Even Fangorn stood nearby, speaking in his resounding tones to the Wizard.

Arothir seethed. The Istar that had caused the destruction behind him, stood below the thief. Arothir pushed his anger behind a façade of neutrality. He stood up, brushed himself off lightly, and walked on silent feet down the hill to the glen. The thief was not against using dirty tricks to win a fight; even if that means stabbing someone in the back, in this case, literally.

As he was approaching, Treebeard turned his ancient eyes to the Elf, before the Ent turned his attention back to the wizard once again after acknowledging the Elf's presence back amongst them once more.

Arothir firmly gripped his dagger in its holster at his back. He quietly pulled it out, keeping it behind him still, he nearly regretting not stopping back at the creek to retrieve his cloak where he had left it when he spoke with Merry.

The Hobbits were talking non-stop with the wizard, Arothir did not dare to listen, he had his purpose, allowing himself no distractions. With a flash of speed, Arothir brandished the dagger forward, aiming for the wizard's unprotected back.

The Istar spun, unnaturally quick, pulling his staff to defend against the blade.

The Hobbits crying out in surprise!

The staff and blade pushed against each other. A stalemate of strength. Silver-grey eyes narrowing into slits at the blue-eyes of the wizard in front of him. The Istar's eyes shadowed with determination warring with confusion at the sudden assault from an unknown Elf.

Arothir dropped his dagger, causing the Istar to stumble from the loss of pressure. Arothir kicked out at the Istari's right knee, intending to bring him down, reaching out to snatch the back of the wizard's cloak. Before he could grab the material. The Istar, as he fell from the kick to the back of his knee, swung his staff at the thief. Arothir dodged, but not before knocking into the Hobbit that were attempting to grab the thief in desperation.

Arothir, snarling at the interruption, before grabbing both Halfing by the back of their necks, amd pushing them away from him. They both fell in a tumble of limbs. Arothir, planting his booted feet, preparing to launch himself at the now standing wizard. The thief glanced at his fallen dagger to the Istar and back again. If he had to, he was going to claw the wizard's eyes out. The thief's fea was shadowed and he was mourning the destruction he had seen of the Valley of Isen. The Istar was going to die!

"Elfling! Stop!" Fangorn booming out as he was taking a giant step towards the thief.

Arothir froze in shock for a moment, not expecting Fangorn to react as he did. Recovering quickly, he backed up to be able to see everyone in front of him. He was not getting flanked, nor cornered. He saw Fangorn standing still now; the Wizard holding his staff diagonally before himself; the Hobbit regaining their feet and turning to their new friend in hurt and surprise. Arothir, not thinking straight and turning his angry grey-eyes to his old friend, the Tree Herder, before snapping out in grief, "They're dead! They're gone! Why do you protect him?"

"What? Who? What are you speaking of…?" this came from the wizard. Arothir, snarling, before turning his attention to Saruman, except… it wasn't Saruman before him. Now that Arothir looked, truly looked, the difference were obvious. The wizard in front of him held wise clear blue-eyes, clean-shaven, kind-looking. Arothir focused on the wizard's aura; this unknown Istari held a powerful, yet well-tempered soul. "Who are you?" Arothir hisses out coldly. This was not Saruman. Saruman oozed haughty arrogance, harsh power, his spirit; cold and cruel. "I said, 'Who are you?'" demanding Arothir once more.

"That's Gandalf!" this cry coming from Pippin. His blue eyes filling with confusion and fear.

Arothir furrowed his brows at the Hobbit, trying to remember why he knew that name.

"You may know me as ' _Mithrandir_.'" This from the new Wizard, his voice kind yet holding a hint of steel and wariness at the unknown Elf that had attacked him.

Arothir, finally remembering why he knew that name. "You're a companion of Radagast, correct? The Grey Pilgrim?" probing further, his hand twitching in anticipation of a fight still.

Gandalf stood to his feet, brushing his cloak off absently, before switching his white staff from one hand to the other, before nodding his white-haired head at the thief.

" _Hooorrmmmmm_. Elfling…what… has happened…?" Fangorn's rumbling voice cutting through the tension between the Istar and the Elf. The Great Tree Lord stepped between the Elf and the rest of the group. His yellow-green eyes, taking in the rage-filled elf, Fangorn could sense sorrow beneath it all. It worried him. Fangorn had had a hand in protecting and raising this young Elf. Young opposed to Fangorn himself, of course, and Gandalf. The young Elf in front of him was Ages old, born in the First Age.

Arothir, turning his angry grey eyes at Tree Herder, before hissing out. "They're dead! Gone! Burned!"

" _Hrmmm_. Who?"

"Your people! The trees! Saruman killed them all!"

This shocked the Tree Herder. The Ent turned pained eyes to the Istar, " _Orrrmmmnn_. Mithrandir…"

"Treebeard, time is not on our side. We must move against Saruman now. He has gone too far." Gandalf gravely states, he was leaning fully on his staff, his blue-eyes closing in thought.

" _Hroooom_. I fear… I have been blinded. _Hrrrm._ You warned me of this…. Mithran-… I chose not t-t-to believe yo-. _Oooorhh_ -."

"Mr. Treebeard, sir?" this came from the forgotten Hobbits, their curly hair-heads moving to look at the Istar, Elf, and Ent in turn. Confusion lacing their tone.

Fangorn stopped moving, his movements stilling completely, his body as still as the trees around him.

"Treebeard?" Gandalf calls, calling out to his old friend. Both the Istar and the Elf noting the glaze beginning to cover the yellow-green eyes of the Lord of the Forest. The Ent did not respond to the call.

" _Ai Valar!_ " this was whispered from Gandalf.

The thief, furrowing his eyes at the unnaturally still Ent and Mithrandir's reaction. 'It cannot be…'

"What wrong, Mr. Gandalf?" the Hobbits coming closer to the person in question, their footsteps nearly silent on the leaf-strewn ground.

Arothir waved them away, shushing them, watching the Istar. Gandalf was muttering to himself as he strode over to the Ent, the thief caught the words of "Saruman" "Caradhras", "Mordor" and "Be-damned staff-wielding wizards". Mithrandir with whispering words, a flux of his white magic, and a tap of his staff on the leaf covered ground. His Istari magic revealing… darkness. A dark spell. A dark cloud of magic could be seen surrounding the Ent. Only those with an ability to sense and perceive magic were able to see it. The dark cloud surrounding the Ent was a result of a spell of dark magic. And if Arothir was recognizing it correctly; a cognition-distortion spell. Yet, it wasn't just affecting the Ent… the forest around them had dark clouds permeating throughout the boughs and shadows. Tendrils of darkness wove themselves amongst the trees, and wove up the sides of Fangorn himself, burrowing into his very being, between the creasing and into the dark bark of his hide.

Leaving the Istar to handle the spell, he, personally, had no intention of letting the Istar know that he himself was extremely proficient in magic-weaving, and able to see the intricate knowledge of the spell woven. 'Thank the Valar, Elves are magic-users.' Few Elves were powerful in magic in this Age, most were simply capable of simpler spells. Elven kings, lords, and nobles were more inclined to powerful and intricate magic; that was their burden and curse to bear. Arothir could not measure his own power amongst those such as Elrond Half-elven; Galadriel, the Lady of the Golden Wood; even Thranduil, the Elven King. Arothir was versed in illusions, wards, and glamor spell-weaving, nothing more. The Thief did not want to have to explain to an Istar of all beings; how and why he could see and understand the magic surrounding the Ent and the surrounding forest to such a degree. A cognition-distortion spell was a form of an illusion spell weave, something Arothir himself had studied.

Arothir mind began to race… Nearly everything in the forest was under this particular spell. The Ents, the Trees, even the few animals his elf-eyes could see in the distance.

The entire forest was under the woven spell.

Arothir now knew why Fangorn and this part of the forest were completely unaware of the massacre of the forest surrounding the Valley of Isen. Saruman had bewitched them all, keeping them blind and deaf to the horrors of his new tyrannical movements. Yet…

Arothir, snapping his head in the direction of the small lake where he had first sensed the disturbance. 'The trees from before,' the trees closest to the Valley had internally fought tooth and nail against the spell. Cognition-distortion spells are simply harder to maintain when the targets, or 'marks', are in the vicinity of the hidden object in the long term. He began remembering how this specific spell was explained to him long ago after he had discovered his own talent for magic-weaving. One of his uncles had explained to him on the edges of the sea. He oft would have spell-weaving lessons on the beach with his uncle, or where ever they found themselves. He remembered his uncle's smooth, melodic voice explaining spell-weaving to him, especially illusion magic…

 _"'If one stands with their feet on the shore; the sea, its water, coming to cover them as the waves dance to and fro… do you feel it, Arothir? The waves?' 'Yes, uncle, I feel it.'…'let the water receded back to its depths for a moment.'… 'Close your eyes now, Penneth'…'let the water return… now recede. Do you feel the difference?'… 'Arothir, lasto, the waves are not real'…'Yes they are, Uncle!' 'Arothir, they are not real, they are an illusion, do not be fooled…' 'Uncle, can you not feel the waves? I can feel it! They are real!'… 'Penneth, that is exactly why this spell does not hold…'"_

The lesson that comes with weaving a cognition-distortion spell; being blatantly exposed, long-term to the object that is being hidden, always allows rips and snags in the woven spell. The spell will eventually fail and unravel. The trees closest to the Valley of Isen, had slipped between the seams of the spell… with enough force to radiate their distress to the lake and to the Elf that swam in the clear water. An Elf they knew and trusted… and Arothir had listened and responded.

A growl from the Ent brought Arothir back from his thoughts.

" _Hrrrrssshs._ Saruman shall pay for what he has done!"

The spell had been broken.

Arothir grinned to himself. That means war is coming to Isengard.

(LINE BREAK)

The rest of the day and the following one was filled with tension and adrenaline of the up-coming battle. Fangorn had attended the Ent Moot, along with Merry and Pippin. How they had managed to convince the rest of the Ents, the Elf knew not. He was grateful for the reinforcements.

Arothir checked his weapons once more, finding everything in place. His cloak, finally having been retrieved from the creek-side around his shoulder, hood in place, and mask pulled up. Only his silver-grey eyes could be seen.

Surprisingly, the Wizard had left them, departing for the unknown amid the trees. He would not be participating in the battle of Isengard. Arothir smirking ruefully at the thought of the wizard's departing message to the Halflings, "Meriadoc Brandybuck. Peregrin Took. If I find out you have participated in the coming battle; I shall string you up, toss you in a sack and send you back to Rivendell with the next traveler I see!" these were the words spoken before the old man had turned to the Elf. "Treebeard has evaded my questions concerning you. Yet, he is willing to vouch for you. I cannot see why, considering your introduction to me… I do not know you. Nor have I heard of you…. I am old, older than you, I can imagine… I have seen, heard, and known many; enough to say I have an understanding of someone when I meet them. You have a darkness within you, that you are trying to hide behind the light of your fea. Be wary. Do not let it consume you." The wizard paused, long enough to light his pipe, before continuing. "You remind me of someone; someone I cannot quite remember. My heart says to trust you, though my thoughts are wary." With those parting words, Gandalf the Grey wandered off, in preparation of meeting the Three Hunters that seek the Hobbits.

(LINE BREAK)

The battle of Isengard began in the early morning.

Merry and Pippin rode upon Fangorn leading the charge against the Valley of Isengard, while Arothir rode upon a strong maple Ent known as 'Bowhall'. Scores of Ents followed after them.

Arothir's grey eyes shown with excitement and the absolute thrill of the coming battle. He saw a few of the Ents reach the wall before them that surrounded the formerly beautiful valley of Isengard. Smoke rose from the vast chasms that pervaded the land below the Tower of Orthanc. Arothir narrowed his eyes at the tower. His blood-boiling at the sight of the vast tower, knowing whom that lived there to be the one that destroyed the once peaceful land that was hidden by the massive forest of Fangorn.

Saruman would not live to see the morning come again.

Ents were smashing and kicking every Uruk and Orc that thought they could win against the warring forest. A few Ents were taking boulders and throwing them against the black walls of Orthanc. Merry and Pippin, from what the thief could see, had taken rocks and were chucking them at the Orcs.

Arothir eyebrow's shot up in surprise at the accuracy of the Hobbit's aim. He saw one of them ping the helmet of an Orc with enough force to push it over the side of the chasm into the darkness below.

Ents were tearing down the wooden towers and ramps at the edges of the deep chasm.

A loud _Hoormmm Huuurmmm_ was heard. Several Ents were pulling at the logs and stone that kept the River Isen from entering the valley from atop a steep hill.

"Break the dam!" came the call from Fangorn himself. Ordering his Ents into pulling harder against the barrier of the dam. Water could be seen from the cracks and one of the Ents had pulled one of the logs completely away from the dam throwing it behind him.

Severel orcs had shot flaming arrows at a few of the Ents, setting their limbs ablaze. Arothir prayed the dam would burst. Turning his attention away from the flames and looking from the dam to the Tower, a figure cloaked in white had slipped out the black doors on the Tower's balcony, and the cloaked figure was watching the chaos below.

'Saruman.' Thought both the thief and Bowhall shared looking above at the White Wizard.

"Bowhall! Let me down!" called the thief to his companion.

' _Hurrrmmmm hummmm'_

"I am going to take that into advisement." Arothir replied with a grin, understanding the Entish that Bowhall had spoken. With a moment of hesitance, Bowhall lowered the Elf from his shoulder onto the gravel and dirt they stood on.

An Uruk came to attack the now-down-on-the-ground thief. Before Arothir could attack, Bowhall smashing the Uruk with a heavy foot, killing the beast instantly.

Arothir, with a quick salute to Bowhall, turned and bolted for the Tower doors of Orthanc. He knew Bowhall would watch out for him while he worked.

Hearing Fangorn repeat the words of "Break the dam!" the thief knew he had to work quickly. Sprinting up the tower steps, sliding to a stop once he reached the doors into the Tower. Arothir grabbing out several items out of his travel pack; a push knife and his lock-picks. He knew the Tower doors to be locked and warded against intruders. He bent down to lay the items on the ground next to him. Arothir knelt down to one knee to examine the doorlock, sizing it and thinking through his options of opening an enchanted door.

Arothir rarely dealt with enchanted items in this Age. Ages ago there were more to choose from… but no longer were enchanted items found so easily.

Arothir placed his slim pale hands flat against the door. He took a breath and reached out with what magic, he himself, possessed. He mentally mapped out the wards of the Tower and more specifically the doors themselves.

Arothir snorted quietly and murmured to himself, "Saruman, you fool."

Saruman in all his pride and cunning did not consider the fact that one of the Eldar would come to break into the Tower of Orthanc. The magical warding of the onyx doors was minimal. With a few spoken words, and a slight wave of his hand, these movements possessing the spells of the Eldar, Arothir was able to disarm the wards. After he had finished, he grabbed his lock-picks, within a minute the door clicked; unlocked. He stowed away his lock-picks, and just as he reached for the handle, the thundering sound of crashing water was quickly becoming louder and the Entish yell of "Watch out!" was heard from Bowhall. The dam had been released. Arothir, snatched up his knife; with knife in hand and with a quick nod of thanks at Bowhall, Arothir slipped into the Tower of Orthanc and into the darkness beyond.

(LINE BREAK)

The inside of the Tower of Orthanc was dark; its walls and the gleaming floors were the same as the outside of the tower, all onyx and obsidian. Arothir walked quietly through one hall and into the next. Bookcases overflowing with ancient tomes, melted candles on almost every flat surface, windows that displayed the world outside were latticed in black iron. Arothir, a lover of ancient things, stepped over to one of the cases that lined a wall, skimming the titles of the old tomes with his grey eyes, while keeping his ears open for any sound that may come his way. Finding nothing that caught his attention, he stepped away and continued on.

He had just stepped into a room that held several various sized tables crowded with open books and vials, when he heard the guttural sounds of Orcish. Glancing around for a place to hide, he spotted a pair of decorative crossbeams on the ceiling above. Crossbeams that had enough space between them and the ceiling for the Elf to lay comfortably on. Arothir darting foreard, his boots making no sound on the floor, he climbed onto one of the closed window ledges, the tips of his boots and the tips of his slim fingers keeping him from falling. He crouched, uncomfortably, and jumped to grab the black curtain rod that held heavy black curtains, hauling himself up, thanking his Elvish weight in the process, and once his feet were on the bar as well, he launched himself above, grabbing onto the crossbeam and scuttling onto it. Arothir had just finished sqeezing himself into the hollow space between the crossbeam and ceiling, when four orcs entered into the room.

The growls and crass language of the Orcs, Arothir had never gotten used to. He has destroyed quite a few packs in this long life, but the sounds and screeches of those of the Mordor, still affected him. Arothir couldn't help but remember the stories he had been told by his uncles and other Elves that traveled the vast spaces of Arda, that Orcs were once Elves. Elves that had been tortured and twisted by the sadistic Lord Melkor and his many subjects. Arothir closed his eyes and shuddered in the space between the crossbeams and the ceiling, suddenly feeling unnaturally cold. Morder was known to be the spawning ground of evil.

"You!" a strong voice cut into the Orcs conversation.

Arothir's eyes snapped open! 'Who-?'

Arothir shifted slowly, centimeter by centimeter, to look at the new speaker in the room. 'O Valar!' Arothir cursed his bad-luck, Saruaman stood below him in the room, the black Wizards staff glinted in the light from the windows.

"Get out there and stop those Ents! Now!"

"'ow are we to do 'hat?" the apparently stupidest Orc in the Trio questioned.

"What did you just say to me?" Saruman hissed out, his black-iris eyes flaring. The Orcs cowering and squealing in fear.

Arothir, tuning them out and began focusing all his attention on the White Wizard's expressions. Anger was plainly seen, yet, so was the expression of barely-hidden fear in the dark wizard's eyes and expression.

Saruman knew he was losing the battle outside.

The thief cruelly smirking at the sight.

Saruman stormed out of the room, the Orcs following after him.

After a few moments, Arothir dropped from the ceiling, the soles of his boots taking the impact from such a height. Going out the passageway, the opposite one from where Saruman went. He kept walking quickly and quietly. Saruman would not have risked a war with the Ents, for no reason. What was he hiding?

Arothir opened a random door in the hallway, only to find a staircase leading up. Arothir glanced up and down the hallway once more, before stepping through the door and closing it behind him and beginning to ascend up the dark stairs, lit by various torches in black iron holders.

The stairs took him up and up the spiral staircase. No windows lined the walls on either side of him adding an almost claustrophobic feeling to overcome the Elven male. He began climbing faster, the staircase was longer than he anticipated and with no exits, by door or window near him, could be seen. If any Orc, Uruk-hai, or even Saruman himself came up or down the steps, it would be a close-quarter fight.

He had just finished that though when he heard the sound of a door opening, and heavy footsteps descending. Arothir cursed his luck with a dead-panned look. He stopped moving and slipped a short throwing knife out of one of his many holsters and grasped it firmly. With himself being lower than the approaching target, Arothir would be at a disadvantage; surprised and speed would be his only ally in this. Arothir widening his stance and crouching low, firmly planting his boots. Narrowing his eyes, with the torches lighting the staircase, the flickering shadow of an orc was approaching.

As soon as the Orc appeared, Arothir stuck! Driving his knife into the throat of the Orc; it's armor was not made to protect its dirty grey neck. Arothir had aimed for the neck, to silence the beast before it could call out. The Orc flailed, scrambling for its weapon with weakening movements, as its black blood spilled onto the stone steps. Arothir dug his blade in deeper for a few seconds more, before pulling it out in order to stab the creature in the eyes, to pierce its brain.

Arothir, gripping the body firmly, slowly lowered the carcass to the steps of the hallway. Wiping his blade off on the orc, Arothir continued forward faster than ever.

* * *

My apologizes on taking so long with this chapter. :(

Anyway, my comments on the chapter.

*You really never read stories of a character going with Merry and Pippin into Isengard, especially the battle of Isengard. They all seem to go with the Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf to Meduseld and Helm's Deep. I'm simply mixing it up a bit for something different.

*Mae Govannen = Well Met.

*Losto = Listen

*When words are in italics, they are speaking their own language (i.e. Elvish, Entish, etc)

I will attempt to get the next chapter out quicker, but I'm flip-flopping between this and _Darken Thy Eyes_ , and whatever else catching my creative attention span.


End file.
